


A Shot in the Dark

by LustOnMyFingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Former Lovers - Freeform, Old Flames, Reconciliation, Rhaegar x Lyanna AU Week, Romance, Secret Affair, Smut, rlauweek, separated parents, the one that got away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 12:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/pseuds/LustOnMyFingers
Summary: A couple years after her son left for college in King's Landing, Lyanna Stark agrees to accompany her brother, Ned, on a trip south to surprise their sons - all the while harboring the secret desire to run into her old flame, Rhaegar Targaryen, with whom she's been estranged for two decades. (Spin-off ofDating in the Dark)





	A Shot in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toaquiprashippar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toaquiprashippar/gifts).



> This was written for my dear friend, the lovely and talented [toaquiprashippar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toaquiprashippar/) with whom all of my ships share a harbor. I wish you the speediest of recoveries and I hope this alleviates at least some of your boredom. ♥
> 
> Oh! Also written as part of [Rhaegar x Lyanna AU week over on Tumblr](https://rhaegarxlyanna.tumblr.com/post/177737754617/rhaegarxlyanna-hello-lovely-followers-and) for Day 7: Free Choice (also Modern AU)
> 
> This one-shot takes place in the world of my pre-existing Jonerys fic [Dating in the Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891683/chapters/31965417). But don't worry—you don't need to have read that for this to make sense.
> 
>  **Note:** The ages are adjusted so that no character gave birth under the age of eighteen, be it Rhaella or Lyanna. Thus, Rhaegar and Lyanna are now only two years apart (Yeah, it's spin-off of a modern incest AU BUT we've all got to have _some_ standards).
> 
>  ***Warning:*** This is something that should go without saying but I've been made aware of a trend in harassment so I'm going to mention it, here. **If you're not a fan of Rhaegar or the Rhaegar x Lyanna pairing, do not proceed. In fact, you are not invited beyond this point.**

 

 

 

* * *

 

The drive from Winterfell to King's Landing was a long one. If Ned had it his way, he and his sister would've spent the whole trip down nodding silently along to the classic rock station without so much as a peep. Lyanna's brother wasn't much of a talker, but she supposed simply being beside him provided her a great deal of comfort, particularly considering her true motives for agreeing to join him on the trip south.

 

While there was nothing in the entire world she loved more than her son, she knew how terribly busy he was between work and school. Right now, a surprise visit would be terrible timing. She knew it wasn't a good time to drop into his life from out of nowhere. But, the moment Ned's invitation came via a late night text, she accepted without a second thought. And the _first_ thought hadn't been her son.

 

Too much drink had brought her shields down that fateful night as she sat alone in her apartment, with only her laptop and a podcast for company. Lyanna knew exactly where her son had gone that very night—The Slate. To _his_ charity auction. Jon had neglected to tell her his plans. However, she'd seen him weaving awkwardly through the crowd in her nephew's Instagram story, followed by a flash of silver hair.

 

And her heart skipped a beat.

 

It was _pathetic_ , really. Nearly a lifetime had passed since she and Rhaegar had truly spoken, at least about anything other than Jon. And now she was stalking Robb just to catch a glimpse of him. Lyanna swished what little ale remained in the bottle as she considered. _He must have his own account_ , she thought, _being the face of a charity_...

 

Slowly, she typed his name into the search bar.

 

_R-h-a-e-g-a-r_

 

With a groan, she struck the backspace key seven times, cursing herself all the while.

 

"What's on your mind?" Ned asked, pulling her from the shameful memory.

 

"Nothing."

 

Her brother scoffed, then, shaking his head. "Lying might work on Ben, but not me."

 

Lyanna cringed. "Wouldn't work on Ben, either," she admitted.

 

"You're afraid you'll see him."

 

Was she so transparent? Rather than answer, she merely folded her arms, adjusting her gaze to the trees whipping by on the interstate.

 

"Don't worry, Lya. It's a huge city, and I imagine he's a hard man to run into," Ned reassured his sister, a weak smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Luck is on your side."

 

Little did he know, that's exactly what Lyanna had hoped for—to run into Rhaegar.

 

.  .  .

 

Though Jon would still be at work for a few hours yet, Ned dropped Lyanna off at his place in Flea Bottom. Upon letting herself inside, she was almost relieved to see the sorry state of his apartment. It gave her something to do. After taking Ghost out for a nice long walk to clear her head, she'd make herself useful and pick up after him.

 

Of course, she'd found _much_ more than she had bargained for. Strewn all throughout his apartment and draped over his furniture were women's undergarments. Lyanna couldn't help herself from peeking at the tags—determining they must all belong to the same girl based on the size. Pairing that evidence with the small mountain of condom wrappers tumbling over his nightstand, she knew for certain. Jon had a girlfriend. At the realization, she felt a small ache in her heart that he should keep such a thing from her. All the while, she'd been a few thousand miles away worried sick that he spent his nights wallowing alone—just as she had.

 

Just as she finished up wiping down his kitchen counters, his door opened and a woman's voice called her son's name in a rather alluring manner.

 

With a slight flush of embarrassment, Lyanna turned."Oh. Hello, there."

 

The girl stood frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in the headlights. Was she the culprit of all the strewn underwear? The wonder burned through her as she tilted her head, assessing whether she might be the right size for it.

 

"I'm afraid my son isn't here," she said, moving to greet the girl with an outstretched hand. "I'm Lyanna."

 

"I know."

 

Lyanna raised her eyebrow at that as the girl offered a weak handshake. _Kids these days_ , she thought as she waited for an introduction that never came. "And you are...?"

 

"Sorry," the girl blurted. "I'm... Daenerys."

 

"Daenerys. That's pretty." Lyanna tried to place the familiarity of such an exotic name, unable to stop herself from asking, "Are you the girlfriend, then?"

 

The mere suggestion made the girl cringe, and Lyanna felt a small swell of protective anger surging through her veins. _She should be so lucky_. Her son had turned out even better than she could've imagined—compassionate, thoughtful, observant, clever. Further, Jon was the spitting image of his father—that same irritatingly handsome pout and dark eyes to match—Rhaegar, just dipped in Stark coloring.

 

However, Lyanna quickly discovered the source of the cringe.

 

Daenerys was Jon's aunt.

 

"Rhaegar's sister. Of course," she whispered, the realization nearly robbing her of her voice. After swallowing a hard lump in her throat, she added, "You look just like him."

 

And just like that, her irresponsible mind was back on _him_ as she finished navigating the awkward meeting with his baby sister.

 

.  .  .

 

To distract herself from her traitorous thoughts, Lyanna questioned her son about his love life as he drove beside her. Jon had successfully dodged each one, but had questions for her, too—such as why she had even come to town. After explaining that his uncle Ned craved the company on a road trip down to escape Catelyn's wrath for at least a few days, her son smirked. It wasn't a lie, after all. It just wasn't the full truth.

 

She wanted to see his father. That's the only part she neglected to confess.

 

Once she realized they were headed out of Flea Bottom and toward the nicer part of town, Lyanna perked up. "Where are we headed?"

 

"I'm taking my mother out to dinner."

 

"Where, exactly? We usually just walk down to the deli..."

 

"Oh, _no_ ," Jon smiled his father's smile. "Not this time. Those hole-in-the-wall diners are _no_ place for the likes of Lyanna Stark."

 

She gave her son a sidelong glare, then, pestering him further about his secret love life in an attempt to distract herself from the hopeless fantasy her mind had spun.

 

" _Lemonwood?_ " she scoffed as they finally reached their destination. "Oh, Jonny, this is too fancy."

 

"Nonsense. I've been itchin' to take you here ever since I first spotted this place. I know how much you love Dornish restaurants."

 

"Yes, and the ones in the north are horseshit, if you recall."

 

Shaking his head, Jon chuckled, the same as his father had done every time she swore. The memory flashed in her mind—his pale cheeks tinged with pink every time she'd done it. A sight so beautiful it might even be responsible for her notoriously foul mouth. Lyanna sighed, carefully climbing out of her son's Firebird, his most prized possession after Ghost.

 

Taking his mother by the arm, Jon led her through the colossal double-doors. Inside, the air was heavy with spices that snaked through her senses, wriggling straight into her brain and tugging at the very memories she had tried so hard to dispel over the years. The scent alone had been enough to quicken her pulse. Impossibly, it was the exact scent that lingered all throughout the obscure Dornish resort, the Tower of Joy, some twenty years ago.

 

Taking in another lungful of warm, spicy air, she could almost feel his phantom fingertips brushing over her skin, tangling in her hair the way they'd done a lifetime ago. Dizzied, Lyanna spied her son through distracted eyes. He was frowning away as she finally noticed that not only had the restaurant been packed despite the early hour, but so had the lobby. Unsure how long she could handle the assault on her senses, she moved closer to him to get his attention.

 

"We'll come back, Jonny."

 

When her son turned, his gaze drifted right past her and over her shoulder. In an instant, his frown turned to a full-on scowl.

 

"Let's go," he whispered through tight lips as he took her by the hand.

 

Before even moving a muscle to follow her son, she heard a breathless voice behind her.

 

"Lyanna."

 

Her name slipped from his lips as if it was with his dying breath.

 

Heart thudding unevenly in her chest, Lyanna turned to face him. Appropriately, he looked like a ghost in a stark-white suit, perfectly tailored to his body. Around the edges of her vision, she spied a few splashes of Targaryen red—a pocket square and cufflinks. Her eyes lingered a bit too long on his as she fought the urge to follow the long column of his neck to where a hint of collarbone peeked out just beneath an open button.

 

"Rhaegar," she breathed his name the same way she'd done in Dorne.

 

To her horror, it was then she realized the man had only improved with age as he sighed before her, his eyes curiously running over her body. Had she been able to move, she might've attempted to cover herself—suddenly feeling frumpy in her jeans and too-casual blue floral blouse.

 

"We were just leaving," Jon sneered, yanking his mother by the arm and breaking the spell.

 

Lyanna couldn't so much as budge, though, as if she'd suddenly turned to stone. His eyes—like two dark amethysts—brimmed with sadness despite his smile. After just a moment of holding her gaze, he opened his mouth to speak again.

 

"It appears time has broken faith with all but you."

 

She swayed as if suddenly inebriated. The common tongue had no combination of words that could express how she felt before him. He'd robbed her of even the simplest of responses.

 

"Miss Stark?"

 

"Yes?" she absently replied, though her eyes remained fixed on Rhaegar's face, appreciating the stubble that now framed his plump, pouty lips.

 

"We've found a table for you and your son," the man explained, impatient.

 

"Yes..." she uttered again, reluctantly peeling herself from the man she'd spent the better half of her life avoiding like greyscale.

 

This time, when Jon tugged her arm, she followed, trying her best to snap out of her daze. She knew her son would be unhappy with her little performance just now. He'd have questions, surely—but not nearly as many as she now had. _Did I give my name to the host?_ she wondered as she settled into the booth, the incredible view of the city a welcome distraction.

 

Lyanna used the thankfully large menus to hide her now-flushed face from her suspicious son, just across from her. With a bit too much enthusiasm, she began to _ooh_ and _ahh_ at the surprisingly wide selection of Dornish fare—her favorite featured in bold text at the very top of the entrees. Jon, however, hadn't even touched his menu.

 

"Already know what you're going to get, Jonny?"

 

"Yes."

 

Curiously, Lyanna spied her son just over her menu. "What?"

 

" _Nothing_ ," he hissed, folding his arms over his chest. "I lost my appetite."

 

"Don't be so dramatic."

 

Jon narrowed his eyes. "I was under the impression that you two didn't talk."

 

"We don't."

 

"Then what in seven hells was _that_ all about? Just now?"

 

Sighing, Lyanna set the menu down, smoothing a palm over it, considering how to answer.

 

"I thought you hated him."

 

"I don't _hate_ him."

 

"He's a married man, _mother_ ," her son scolded. "He shouldn't be mooning over other women like that. That's exactly what got you into this mess in the first place."

 

" _Mess?_ " she spat, suddenly taken aback. "I'll have you know that you're the best damned thing that's ever happened to me, Jonny."

 

Instantly, guilt furrowed his brow. "I didn't mean it like th-"

 

"Besides," she interrupted, picking her menu back up. "He's _not_ married."

 

"What? Since when? And _how_ do you know?"

 

"He wasn't wearing a ring."

 

"Probably pocketed it once he saw you," he grumbled.

 

"That's _enough_ , Jon."

 

After ordering, the pair sat together in silence. They fixed their gazes on the horizon—where the historic Red Keep rose like a ladder toward the sky. Five million or so inhabited King's Landing today—more people than the entire north combined. She had tried, in vain, to talk Jon out of heading south for school. When she asked why anyone would want to live that way—crammed into such a small, foul-smelling city—he reminded her that there are far more opportunities there than anywhere else in Westeros. Realizing that keeping him all to herself in the north would only hurt him in the long run, she gave up the grudge and let him go.

 

Finally, their drinks arrived with two bowls of leek soup to start. The moment the waiter was out of earshot, Jon opted to apologize. The pair had never been able to stay upset with each other for long.

 

Lyanna used the opportunity to shift the focus back onto him, using his guilt over their spat to help wriggle free a few more details about his secret relationship. That is, until his phone buzzed in his pocket.

 

"It's Robb. Do you mind if I take this?"

 

"Not at all. Tell him I said hello."

 

Lyanna twiddled her thumbs nervously as she watched Jon's image recede further into the restaurant. Just as her thoughts strayed back to Rhaegar, a man cleared his throat beside her, startling her so thoroughly, she had to place a hand to her heart to calm herself.

 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

 

Timidly, Lyanna peered the man from beneath the veil of her lashes.

 

"I'm surprised our son left you alone. He's like your little direwolf protector."

 

She gestured toward Jon's seat as she mustered up a reply. Rhaegar reluctantly sat at the booth's edge, careful not to touch their son's food.

 

"My little dragon, more like."

 

Rhaegar smirked as Lyanna nodded toward his dragon-shaped cufflinks. He rubbed one between his fingers. "Dragon," he considered, shaking his head. "He's all-Stark. Jon looks just like you, Lyanna."

 

"He may have my hair, Rhae," his nickname slipped from her lips, but she continued, insisting, "But he looks just like _you_. Same sad eyes and pout."

 

"Pout? I don't _pout_ ," he laughed.

 

She couldn't help but join him. "Jonny's just as quick to deny it, too."

 

As their gazes met again, Rhaegar sobered up, swallowing hard. "Seeing you here sure came as a shock."

 

"It did?" she flushed. "In what way?"

 

"You and Jon in my restaurant? Never thought I'd see the day."

 

For some reason, her heart sank. While she had hoped to run into the man, she certainly didn't want him to think she had sought him out on purpose. "He picked it out," she spat. "Brought me here as a surprise."

 

"Of course he did," he pursed his lips pensively for a moment. "You love Dornish food."

 

She sighed, unable to help her mind from wandering back to the two-week period they'd spent rolling around in bed together after running away. The way the silk sheets felt against her skin—the only thing she wore to cover her modesty as the bell boy set out a small feast before them each day. The only appetite she had was for Rhaegar, but he had dutifully reminded her of the need for sustenance...

 

"What brings you to town?"

 

_You._

 

"Um," she hesitated. "Jon, technically. But it was Ned's trip, I just tagged along. He was desperate to get away from his wife for a few days."

 

"Sounds like Cat hasn't changed at all," he laughed again, and she couldn't help but join in.

 

Catelyn had always been like a thorn stuck in her paw—irrationally jealous of anyone who took Ned's attention away from her. Once Jon was born, however, it became much worse since her brother took on the role of a surrogate father to her child. The woman had always judged Lyanna for her _'mistake'_.

 

"You're in my seat," Jon interrupted with a sneer.

 

Clearly hurt by his tone, Rhaegar cleared his throat in an effort to disguise it. "Of course. I was just leaving."

 

Jon eyed his parents suspiciously as his father slipped from the booth, pausing at the table's edge.

 

"It was good to see you, Lyanna."

 

"You, too," she smiled, feeling the heat spread across her cheeks again.

 

"And you, Jon."

 

" _Mmmhmm_ ," their son hummed, grabbing the dessert menu as he reclaimed his seat.

 

Lyanna's eyes followed Rhaegar, but he never looked back. All of a sudden, her chest was tight, unable to imagine, entirely, how it must feel to be treated so coldly by one's own child.

 

_What have I done?_

 

As she sank into her seat, Jon readied a mouthful for her, lecturing her against further associating with the man he perceived to be an absentee parent for the bulk of his life. _Oh, Jonny_ , she thought, finally realizing how poorly she'd managed her relationship with his father—that she had transferred her own overblown misgivings to her son as a result. With no other choice, she sat, patiently enduring his each and every complaint.

 

She would fix it. She had to.

 

"You know that was _my_ doing and not his, right?"

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Rhaegar was even awarded joint custody of you. I refused his child support and though I agreed to let you attend the annual Targaryen family reunions, he respected my wishes when I told him I'd rather he stayed out of our lives."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because I was hurt," she sighed. It wasn't easy to admit, but she knew it was time. "Because I was young and stupid, and I wanted to hurt him, too. And while it worked... Unfortunately, I hurt you, too."

 

"You didn't hurt me."

 

"I _did_. It may be too late to change the past, Jonny," Lyanna smiled, solemn. "But it's never too late to change our future."

 

.  .  .

 

While her son was attentive, she could tell he was itching to get back to his own secret affair. After all, it's likely she'd interrupted his plans for the night by popping up without warning. Reluctantly, Jon drove her further into Cobbler's Square, the _fancy_ part of town or so he liked to call it, scoffing all the while. However, he didn't have much of an argument prepared when she expressed worry about getting bed bugs at some sleazy motel closer to his place—her concerns were valid. Flea Bottom had rightfully earned its moniker.

 

Further, he hadn't even offered his couch like usual, all but confirming she had interrupted whatever plans he'd had with his girlfriend.

 

Which was fine. After all, she had plans of her own, now. Well, _maybe_. If her nerves decided to cooperate, she might.

 

Lyanna picked a place only a few blocks from Lemonwood—The Ruby on Ford, an upscale boutique hotel rising just above the Gate of the Gods at the edge of King's Landing. From what she'd read, each room had a unique theme. Normally, this sort of place hadn't appealed much to her—but something about it had piqued her curiosity.

 

The last vacancy they had was a Deluxe King with a gate view. Jon had already driven off, and she didn't know Ford Street well enough to go in search of another hotel. Reluctantly, she agreed to take the remaining room.

 

After climbing two flights of stairs, Lyanna took the narrow path down to the red door at the very end of the walkway. Once inside, she _oohed_ as her eyes drifted to the room's centerpiece—a king bed with plush black bedding and framed with an elaborate headboard to match. The walls were outfitted with red and gold damask wallpaper and draped in dark curtains.

 

Hysterical laughter broke from her mouth as she hurled her bags onto the bed. This was a far cry from the sort of lodgings she usually kept. Lyanna was a self-described minimalist, after all. Pulling her phone out, Lyanna snapped a few photos for Jon before unpacking.

 

Unsurprisingly, she never heard back.

 

After setting up her laptop on the desk, she opened the windows as it booted, letting the fresh air inside. The wind was soft and warm. Paired with the Dornish spice still on her tongue, her mind traveled back two decades. To Dorne, to Rhaegar, to the tournament at Harrenhal, where their paths would fatefully cross.

 

Pacing her room alone, Lyanna gripped an invisible sabre, aiming the weapon upwards with the curve of her wrist. Facing the invisible opponent of her memory, she bent her knees, planting both feet at a ninety-degree angle. Straightening her spine, she raised her arm to complete her en garde position, just as Ben had taught her all those years ago.

 

With a lunge, Lyanna thrust toward the ghost, a bully whose name she'd long since forgotten. Distracting him with her weapon, she swept his foot, causing him to stumble as she lunged again. And again, until he was pushed off the edge and flat on his back. All she wanted was to hurt the boy who humiliated her friend, Howland. She wanted his friends and family to see him fail. As the whistles blew, as the shouts urged her to stop—she persisted, toppling over her rival and striking him in the nose with the handle of her sabre. Blood pooled in his mask as he tore it away.

 

"You broke my nose, bastard!" he shouted with a gurgle.

 

She smirked, "It's an improvement."

 

Hearing a _girl's_ voice enraged the boy as he tried tearing off her mask, to no avail.

 

" _Run!_ " someone shouted—Ben, she assumed. Perhaps Howland. Over the shouting, she couldn't tell who. But she listened, and she ran—missing the hands reaching out to stop her by mere inches. The only place she thought to hide was in the stall of the women's bathroom. The boy _could_ confess that it was a female who assaulted him, but she knew his kind well enough to know he couldn't afford to lose to a _girl_.

 

After so long, the door to the bathroom opened, and she hugged her knees to her chest, pulling her feet onto the toilet. Just outside the stall, her mask fell to the ground, rolling under the door. Ben had spray-painted a crude weirwood face over the mesh. From the floor it peered up at her—mocking, laughing.

 

But the laugh was coming from the _other_ side of the door, rather than the mask.

 

"I know you're in there."

 

She said nothing.

 

"My father is furious," he chuckled. He wasn't mocking her—he was _amused_. And with that confession, she knew exactly who it was.

 

Rhaegar Targaryen, whose father, Aerys, funded the annual fencing tournament. Rhaegar Targaryen, who had asked her for a dance at the gala a week prior—the gala she'd attended for the express purpose of plotting the revenge she'd just exacted. Rhaegar Targaryen, who had reduced her to tears with a sad song. Rhaegar Targaryen, who she'd fallen hopelessly in love with after just one dance.

 

"But don't worry," he continued, an indigo eye peeking through the too-wide crack in the bathroom stall to confirm his suspicions. "I'll keep your secret, _Stark_."

 

The vision dissipated and the invisible sabre disappeared from Lyanna's clutch. Sighing, she tucked the memory back into the recesses of her mind before wandering over to her laptop, navigating her way back to Instagram. Her fingers found the seven dreaded letters...

 

_R-h-a-e-g-a-r_

 

...followed by the enter key, this time.

 

His latest post was a photo of himself with his siblings. To his right was the same girl she'd run into at Jon's place mere hours ago. Every bit as beautiful as her brothers. To his left was Viserys, who looked like the spitting image of a young Rhaegar—the one who'd swept her up in a star-crossed romance before leaving her with child. Groaning, she proceeded to his next post—a clip of his performance from the same charity event Jon had attended.

 

To Lyanna's surprise, the song unfolded exactly like their story. It wasn't just the notes he played, but _how_ he played them. Gently, he caressed the strings as if it were his first time even touching the instrument, his movements cautious yet deliberate. His fingers quickened, plucking a tempo so quick it mimicked her racing heart. And then he smiled, as if somehow he knew the effect he'd had on her, even now. It was the same sweet smile seared into her memory, only more distinguished with age.

 

And just as soon as the sweet melody began, it waned into a slow, somber cadence. One hand chased the other down the scale, always just short of catching it. He frowned, then, pulling his hands out from the harp's center, the notes discordant and much too dark for such an instrument. Her heart sank as his hands came to a rest at either end before stilling the strings. It was over before it began.

 

_It shouldn't have ended like that._

 

Lyanna's eyes brimmed with tears as she walked away from the screen, the video looping in the background. She paced for a moment as she considered.

 

_It doesn't have to end like that._

 

She switched to her phone, pulling up his profile there. Her fingers typed up a message of their own volition.

 

_It was good to see you. I'm in town for a few days. Maybe we could_

 

That was all they could get out before her mind put a stop to it. Frustrated, she threw her phone onto the bed without finishing the thought, without ever sending it.

 

.  .  .

 

Jon was busy. Ned was busy. Robb was busy.

 

And there were only so many shitty re-runs she could watch on the hotel television.

 

Already, the loneliness was getting to her—something she had grown accustomed to back home in Winter Town, but being in such a foreign and indulgent place only amplified that hollow feeling.

 

After showering and slipping into something more appropriate to wear down to the cocktail bar below—a dark blue sweater dress with a smoky eye to match—Lyanna figured she might as well try to distract herself with what remained of her night. Grabbing her phone, she slipped it into her purse and made her way down to the lobby.

 

Much like her room, or Lemonwood—the lounge was a bit too extravagant. The bar was a spread of black marble so shiny it reflected the rainbow display of bottles along the wall like a mirror. She took a seat atop one of the tall bar stools near the end.

 

Lyanna browsed the drink menu, which was full of strange craft beers she might've made fun of had one of her brothers been beside her. After selecting the one that embarrassed her the least to say aloud, she retrieved her phone as a means to distract herself. She had a message waiting for her.

 

From Rhaegar.

 

"Oh, fuck," she exclaimed a bit too loudly, garnering a few strange looks from the other patrons in the process.

 

With a trembling hand, she unlocked her phone.

 

"There you are."

 

Before she could even bring up his message, Rhaegar appeared beside her, pulling out a chair.

 

His silver hair was pulled into a messy bun at the base of his head, a few loose tendrils perfectly framing his face—simultaneously looking as if he'd spent hours on it and no time at all. This time, he wore all black—a snug-fitting pair of dress pants, and an even snugger button-down offering the same cruel peek of collarbone. His lack of dress coat this time only confirmed her earlier suspicions—that his body had only gotten better in the twenty years since she'd last touched it.

 

"Um," she stammered, "What are you doing here?"

 

"You messaged me."

 

"No I didn't," she insisted.

 

Rhaegar pulled his phone from his pocket, proving he'd received her incomplete message. Lyanna felt instantly mortified at the realization, cursing her stupid phone for betraying her.

 

"You never replied, though," he sighed. "And I couldn't get you out of my head."

 

At that, her stomach did a flip.

 

"How did you even find me?"

 

"That part was..." he paused to bite his lip, "Without honor, I admit."

 

"What?"

 

"I recognized your room," he sheepishly admitted.

 

"My _room?_ "

 

Shaking his head, he navigated his way to Lyanna's profile, displaying the photos she snapped for their son.

 

"Oh, _no_ ," she sighed. "Those were meant for Jon."

 

"I thought that might be the case. The captions were... well, _strange_ ," he chuckled, angling his screen so she could read one.

 

_Not the only one livin' it up in King's Landing now, are you, Jonny boy?_

 

Lyanna cringed at what _should've_ been a text message. "Gods, this is exactly why old people shouldn't use technology, isn't it?"

 

"Thirty-eight isn't old," Rhaegar stressed.

 

Lyanna only shrugged. Usually, she didn't feel her age, but next to Rhaegar she became painfully aware of each year they'd spent apart, and it wore on her nerves—especially as his eyes lingered on her, as if assessing time's damage.

 

"I meant what I said earlier, Lya," Rhaegar added. "You've hardly aged a day."

 

"On the contrary! I've aged..." she paused to count, "Seven- _thousand_ -something days."

 

When Rhaegar's face split into that unfairly pristine smile, Lyanna cringed again, tapping her fingers impatiently on the bar. "Boy, I sure could use that drink, already..."

 

"What did you order?"

 

"Oh, you know, the only gods-damned beer I could pronounce."

 

"DirtWolf Double IPA," he guessed.

 

Lyanna quirked an eyebrow at that. "Are you stalking me, Rhaegar?"

 

"No," he said confidently. "But that's not to say I'm above it."

 

Nervously, she fidgeted as the bartender finally returned, setting her bottle on a napkin beside an empty glass.

 

"Anything for you, Ser?"

 

"The usual, please." Once the man walked away, Rhaegar reached for her bottle, "Allow me."

 

She held her breath as he poured, filling the glass about halfway before offering it to her.

 

"Thank you," she said, watching his eyes drop to their hands as their fingers brushed together.

 

The jolt of electricity she felt from his touch was undeniable—and it lingered there for a moment even after she'd claimed the glass. Swiftly, she gulped down the honey-colored ale—a mouthful of bitter pine with just a hint of sweetness. _Delicious_.

 

"It tastes like the North."

 

"It does," she scrunched her nose. "You've had it before, I take it?"

 

"I picked it out because it reminded me of you."

 

" _Picked_ it? What do you mean?"

 

Before he could answer, though, she had already pieced it together. " _Seven hells_ ," she interrupted. "You own this hotel, too. That's how you recognized my room. That's how you found me."

 

Rhaegar pursed his lips, a guilty look fanning over his features as he confirmed her suspicion with a nod.

 

"Of _course_ ," she took another swig. And another.

 

"You know my penchant for rubies, Lya."

 

Rubies. Tailored suits. Charity events. Harp solos. Fancy restaurants and boutique hotels.

 

As his eyes hung on hers, slowly drifting to her lips—she suddenly felt hot. Too hot. How had she _ever_ appealed to such a man? Probably the most powerful and renown in the whole of King's Landing. He could have his pick of any woman in the realm, surely. Especially now. Even merely sitting beside him she felt like a frizzy, foul-mouthed sailor. Lyanna thumbed the collar of her sweater dress and shook it, airing herself out. She wasn't used to the heat so far south. Inevitably, her mind wandered even further south...

 

"Rhae," she pleaded, tearing her eyes from his. "I can't keep acting like twenty years haven't passed between us."

 

"Tell me how to rectify that and I will."

 

"We need to talk."

 

"Ask me anything you'd like."

 

Pushing the air from her lungs, she invoked the very name she dreaded to say aloud.

 

"Elia?"

 

He brought his left hand up, flashing his naked ring finger. "Separated five years, divorced three."

 

"Did you cheat on her?"

 

Rhaegar curled his lip, "Why would you think that?"

 

 _Because I was once the other woman_ , she thought. "You _know_ why."

 

"And _you_ know we had an open marriage."

 

"Then how-?"

 

"It was _amicable_ ," he stressed. "She remains my dearest friend. However, she found someone she preferred. Unlike Elia, it turns out I couldn't bear it."

 

Though Rhaegar always donned a rather melancholy expression—one he happened to pass onto their son—whatever joy there had been in his face melted away in an instant. He and Elia had been high school sweethearts. She was a few years older than he, and they already had a child before he was even old enough to legally wed. Marriage had never been important to Elia, but from what Lyanna understood, there was pressure on both sides of the family, and so the pair had succumbed to it.

 

His and Elia's relationship was unconventional, to say the least. It was something she could never claim to understand, no matter how many nights she had spent awake reading books, articles, or forums about polyamory and how it worked. But once upon a time, she had tried.

 

Rhaegar had been her first and last love—a madness that washed over her, one she could neither resist or sustain. It hadn't taken her long to realize she wasn't cut out to join their lifestyle, regardless of whether or not Elia gave her blessing or encouragement. The knowledge that Rhaegar would never be completely hers quickly became a source of shame for her, especially after realizing she was with child. No matter what angle she'd considered it from, she'd always be the other woman. At the risk of compromising herself any further, she cut off all contact with Rhaegar, unless it pertained to Jon.

 

"She doesn't hate me?"

 

Smirking, Rhaegar turned his attention to his phone atop the bar, swiping to unlock it. Lyanna brought the glass to her lips, swishing the ale around her tongue as he pulled up the message history with his ex-wife.

 

_ > She's in town. We just spoke. I can't believe it. _

_Just don't fuck it up this time, boy. You can get it! < _

 

Lyanna clasped a pair of fingers over her lips, trying her best not to spit all over his designer threads.

 

"Well, that's _awful_ presumptuous..." she rolled her eyes, setting her glass down before folding her arms over her chest protectively.

 

"That's just her sense of humor," he laughed. "I'm happy just to talk to you. Really."

 

"If she was _really_ okay with everything, why aren't her children allowed at the Targaryen family reunions?"

 

"Because when my father first met my daughter, he thought it necessary to tell my wife that Rhaenys smelled _Dornish_. Elia didn't want them exposed to that, and I don't blame her."

 

"...Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know," she sighed. Through the grapevine, she heard the mogul had been diagnosed with schizophrenia—it wasn't exactly a well-kept secret. "Wasn't Aerys committed?"

 

"He was." The pain in his eyes only deepened at the mention of his father. "Though unfortunately, he's not the only narrow-minded person in my family."

 

Lyanna kept quiet as Rhaegar ran a hand through his hair, plucking loose a few more silver strands that fell around his impeccably-chiseled face.

 

"You thought it was because of _you_? Or Jon?" he asked.

 

"I didn't know what to think."

 

"You could've asked me, Lyanna."

 

"It hurt too much to look at you, let alone _speak_ to you," she confessed.

 

"Why?"

 

_Because we should've been together._

 

The bartender returned to pour Rhaegar's drink as the pair sat in awkward silence. Lyanna used the opportunity to down what remained in her own glass. Gentleman he was, Rhaegar moved to pour the rest, but she pushed his hand away. Bringing the bottle straight to her lips, she polished it off with several gulps before wiping the residue from her lips.

 

"Another one, m'lady?"

 

"No, thank you."

 

Rhaegar tipped his glass to her before bringing it to his mouth. The blood-colored liquid stained his lips, making them look ripe and plump as berries—and for a moment she could remember how soft they had felt against hers all those years ago. She could even taste it on her tongue—the phantom flavor overwriting the malty aftertaste of her ale—sweet and rich strongwine, the same they gorged on in Dorne.

 

He set his glass down, his fingers hesitating just inches from hers, so close she could feel the heat of his skin.

 

"What else can I tell you?"

 

"Sorry?" she asked, distracted.

 

"The things we need to talk about."

 

"Oh," she cleared her throat, trying her best to remember the list of objections that kept her away from him for nearly two decades.

 

"May I ask something?"

 

She nodded.

 

"Are you seeing anyone?"

 

Unable to help herself, she began to laugh. A deep belly-laugh at first, but then it picked up in both speed and pitch, the idea only growing more absurd as the seconds piled up. Rhaegar raised an eyebrow at her—as had several others. Amused, he simply watched her until the giggling petered out.

 

"No," she finally spat. The closest thing she'd ever had to a relationship had been with _him_. While she got dragged along to the occasional blind or double date, none had ever compared to Rhaegar or the way she had felt those two weeks they'd spent together at the Tower of Joy. _A waste of time_ , she decided.

 

"Nor am I," he grinned.

 

That rare, flawless, and somehow incandescent grin never failed to switch everything on inside of her at once. Overwhelming. _Irritating_.

 

"All right. I've gotta ask," she gestured at his face, his body. "How the _fuck_ is that possible?"

 

He chuckled at that—her foul mouth never failing to get a rise out of him. But it passed in a fleeting moment as he hooked her with another piercing stare. As he leaned in, her breath hitched. She closed her eyes, half-expecting a kiss that never came.

 

Instead, she felt his breath at her ear as he whispered, "Maybe I was too busy being yours to fall for somebody new."

 

And before she could process the admission, his finger finally brushed against hers on the bar. A sudden fever swept through her, such a slight touch carrying a voltage strong enough to weaken her muscles and bring each hair up, standing on end.

 

When it came to fight or flight, Lyanna almost always opted for the former. However, it was too much, too soon. And all she could think about was how to escape.

 

"It's late," she croaked, her voice suddenly hoarse, almost refusing to voice the words.

 

Rhaegar's gaze drifted to their hands, where he tried to tug his away, meeting resistance as if they'd been drawn together by a magnetic pull. She felt it, too—she always had. Some force beyond their control that always came paired with a measure of unease.

 

He frowned. "When can I see you again?"

 

"I'm not sure."

 

Lyanna grabbed her purse, rattling its contents with her trembling hands. Fumbling awkwardly with her wallet, she opened

 

"Shit," she cursed under her breath. " _Fuck_."

 

"What's wrong?"

 

"I haven't got any cash for a tip."

 

Without hesitation, and with much more ease, Rhaegar pulled his wallet out and placed a pair of bills under each glass before offering his arm.

 

.  .  .

 

After parting ways with Rhaegar in the lobby, Lyanna slipped off her shoes and briskly made her way up both flights of stairs to her room. Once inside, she shut and locked the door behind her, as if she were being chased. Her purse and heels fell to the floor with a thud before she dragged herself to the bed and plopped down, defeated. Her head swirled with a mixture of relief and regret, still unsure whether or not she had made the right call. With a still-shaky hand, she dialed guest services.

 

"Room service," she trembled. "A bottle of Dornish Strongwine, please. For Lyanna Stark, room two eighty-one."

 

For a few minutes, she paced her room, anxious to wash the night away with wine.

 

_That will only make it worse._

 

A purveyor of bad ideas in liquid form—and she'd just ordered a whole bottle of it to herself. Without so much as a drop, already the carefully constructed barricades in her mind started to crumble as she thought of his pretty mouth... and all the things he could do with it.

 

Unsure what to do with herself, she slumped against her door as she waited, digging around in her purse for her phone.

 

A message from Rhaegar.

 

Her eager heart began slamming into her ribs as if trying to escape her chest.

 

_Where can we meet?_

 

And then she began to laugh. _Can he read minds, too?_ she wondered.

 

But not for long. The message was old—a response to the mishap that fatefully led him to the seat beside her this evening. Against her better judgment, she decided to tempt fate again. Lyanna typed a reply.

 

_Funny story. Turns out I'm not tired._

 

This time she hit send. And she knew it was all up to him, now—she didn't have it in her to turn him away a second time.

 

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

 

Startled, she jumped at the sensation against her back.

 

" _Finally_ ," she groaned, turning onto her knees before pulling herself up by the doorknob.

 

Before answering, she peered into the peephole.

 

Rhaegar.

 

Under one arm he carried a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses in the same hand. With the other, he was looking at his phone.

 

Reading her message.

 

The heat of her reddening face warmed the space between her and the door as she watched him, wondering whether he could somehow hear her heavy breathing on the other side.

 

And then he smiled.

 

Rare, flawless, incandescent.

 

After slipping his phone back into his pocket, he raised his fist to the door.

 

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

 

Lyanna gulped, using the very tip of her finger to slip the chain from the lock. Pausing to take another breath, she continued on, twisting the deadbolt. After another two breaths, she pulled the door open.

 

"Room service," he grinned. "For Lyanna Stark."

 

No words came. Instead, she moved aside to let him through before closing and locking the door behind him. Locking him _inside_ , she realized.

 

As he set the bottle and glasses down on her desk, her laptop sprang to life—resuming the video she'd been playing on a loop. His harp performance. _Oh, gods_...

 

Her jaw hung from its hinges as she moved forward to stop it, her face burning so hot from mortification she must've surpassed red and turned _purple_.

 

Before she could reach it, Rhaegar caught her by the waist with one arm, giving her a half-twirl until she came to a rest against his body. With his free hand, he intertwined their fingers. And before she knew it, they were slowly swaying together.

 

They were dancing. Just like the night she fell for him.

 

"This one is yours," he confessed. " _'The Queen of Love and Beauty'_. I wrote it for you."

 

"It sounds... like us."

 

"I've been itchin' to write a second part." He pressed his forehead to hers, lips curved up in a smile. His skin smelled of spice, musk, and dragon's breath.

 

"What do you say?" His usually musical cadence had turned to pure gravel—a low rumble she could feel deep in her belly.

 

Lyanna gave a weak nod before offering a reply—a shallow, lazy kiss that wrenched a whimper from her nonetheless, turning her bones to gelatin. His lips were as soft and pillowy as she remembered. Rhaegar let go of her hand, sweeping his palm against her back to help hold her upright, to hold her steady. And no matter how much she inhaled, she couldn't breathe. She had to break away.

 

" _Wait_."

 

Her eyes crossed as he pulled back, waiting just as she'd instructed.

 

"We can't tell Jon. Not yet."

 

"Well, that shouldn't be too hard. He barely speaks to me."

 

"Oh, _Rhae_ ," she sighed. "I'm so sorry. I'll fix it... we'll fix it."

 

After brushing the hair from her temple, he stepped away from her, causing her to wobble. Rhaegar closed her laptop, and suddenly the room went silent.

 

"We can discuss Jon to your heart's content," he said, uncorking the bottle. " _Later_."

 

As he poured, Lyanna realized it wasn't wine she wanted. After handing her a glass, Rhaegar raised his own in a wordless toast.

 

Lyanna downed the liquid in a few swift gulps. Rhaegar took only a few sips before discarding his glass, freeing up his hands to claim her waist a second time. She hesitated again, dodging him as he leaned in for another kiss.

 

"Rhae..."

 

" _Lya_ ," he sang, taking her glass from her and returning it to the desk.

 

"I haven't done it since we... _well_ ," she gulped, the thought cut short as he wrapped himself around her. Settling against his chest, she dropped her voice to a whisper. "What if I suck?"

 

"You won't," he quickly assured her, leaning in to brush his nose along the ridge of her brow until he reached her ear. "And even if you do... Well, I should be so lucky."

 

With a sharp inhale, her mind flooded with indecent ideas, washing away any hope of a clever retort.

 

"No pressure, of course," he added, pulling away to meet her eyes. "Though _some_ pressure helps. If you were looking for tips, that is."

 

This time, Lyanna had regained enough of her wit to mock-gasp, pulling him closer before swatting him on the ass.

 

He raised his eyebrows. "I deserved that."

 

Whatever relief she'd felt at the brief exchange of banter had since come and gone as his eyes filled with an all-new hunger. Overwhelmed, Lyanna cast her gaze from his. That is, until his thumb tilted her chin up, putting her at the mercy of yet another dark-violet gaze.

 

"You keep hesitating."

 

She closed her eyes, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. Not many things scared Lyanna Stark—the _She-Wolf_ , or so her family had dubbed her. Fearless. Wild. But the possibility of submitting her heart to this man a second time rested like a lead weight upon her shoulders. For the first time in a long time—she was afraid.

 

"I meant it when I said I'm happy just to talk to you," he added.

 

A man's voice echoed in her head, then. Her father's? Brandon's? Ned's? She couldn't be sure.

 

_The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid._

 

"I'm not," she finally said, mustering the necessary courage to meet his eyes.

 

Using her shaking hands, she began to undress him—the slow speed at which she moved seeming deliberate rather than the result of her nerves. Button by button, she exposed the panes of his chest. That same sweet smell emanated from his skin—spice, musk, and dragon's breath—ensnaring her senses and drawing her closer. Pressing her nose into his skin, she used his neck to hold herself steady—his pulse beating an erratic rhythm most unbecoming for a musician.

 

She followed the placket until the path dead-ended at his waistband. Dragging both hands to his belt, she unbuckled it, pulling it slowly from its loops. The soft leather slipped through her fingers until it dropped like an anchor at their feet. She felt his shudder while unfastening his pants, allowing for enough give to tug his shirt free.

 

As he shrugged it from his arms, she released his hair from his messy bun, running her fingers through it before they traveled down his neck. Finally, she gave in—trailing kisses along the ridge of the collarbone she'd been eyeing. Rhaegar's breaths shallowed, his chest tightening as she dragged her palms over his skin.

 

Slipping his fingers into her hair, he carefully cradled her head and neck before pulling her from his chest. His eyes were glazed with want, never lifting from her lips and making his intent clear. She endured several hungry kisses that left her breathless until she couldn't take it anymore—she was burning up.

 

" _Rhae_."

 

The name came like a plea between kisses.

 

"Help me out-"

 

Another kiss.

 

"-of this dress."

 

It was a command he took to heart. His hands dropped from her hair as he bent, gripping the hem of her skirt and dragging it all the way up—so swiftly that her reluctance had no chance to blossom. Before she knew it, her dress had gone up and over her head and she was standing there in just her underwear—a matching black satin set.

 

" _Wow_ ," his breath whooshed, taking in the sight of her as he kicked off his shoes.

 

And before she could even attempt to hide herself from him, he playfully lunged at her, the pair bouncing on the mattress as they crashed. Rhaegar gave her a few seconds to laugh before his mouth was on hers again—the desperation in his kiss reminding her that they had twenty years of lovemaking to catch up on.

 

First, it was his hands that explored her—drifting greedily over every last bit of bare skin before his mouth took over. Lyanna tried to stifle the urge to giggle so as not to discourage him, but it'd been so long since she'd been touched that it tickled.

 

After having thoroughly mapped her, Lyanna aided his exploration—unhooking her bra and pulling it from her arms. She twined her fingers in his hair as his hands gravitated toward her breasts—covering one with his palm before dragging each of his fingernails over the soft swell of flesh to its center, rolling her nipple between his fingers. Already, she was writhing pitifully under his touch, and once his mouth latched onto her, she broke—sobbing and kicking her legs from each swirl of his tongue. He chuckled at that, but kept working, the vibration of his laugh only making it worse—so much worse.

 

Rhaegar relented, slipping from the bed upon realizing the hysteria he'd inflicted on her.

 

"Where are you going?" she asked, blinking several times to focus.

 

"Absolutely nowhere."

 

Finally, his image unblurred—he was dragging his pants down over his knees before stepping out of them and pulling off his socks. Underneath, he had on a pair of dark boxer briefs. And just when he advanced back toward the bed, Lyanna pulled herself up, halting him with her knee. He stood there waiting, his brow cocked in confusion.

 

Lyanna placed her forehead to his abdomen, pressing wet kisses down the crease between his muscles there. Inching the fabric down, she kissed a path over the fine hairs until she reached his shaft. She kept kissing as he shuddered, slipping his fingers into her hair to massage her scalp. After stripping him bare, she took him into her mouth. Finding the task more intuitive than she had remembered, she took her time, relishing in the feel of his soft skin on her tongue. There was a low rumble in his chest as she sank her nails into his sides. And once she grew used to it, she encouraged him to thrust back by rocking his hips. Unfortunately, her throat had limitations that her eagerness hadn't, and she backed away to gag, to catch her breath.

 

"Sorry..."

 

He chuckled, "What on _earth_ are you apologizing for?"

 

Still mesmerized by his body, she watched as he stroked himself just inches from her mouth, wiping away her saliva before bringing his hands to her shoulders and pushing her back onto the bed.

 

"I wasn't done," she whined.

 

Climbing over her, Rhaegar silenced her complaint more directly. And once he kissed her stupid, he made his retreat. She squirmed underneath him as a trail of tingling flesh erupted in the wake of soft lips and silver hair as they dragged down her skin. His fingertips slipped under her waistband, tugging the remaining garment over her thighs and knees.

 

Squatting between her legs, she watched nervously as he pried them apart, his breath hitching at the sight. Lyanna raised her hand to bite her knuckles as she watched, waiting anxiously for him to do... well, _something_.

 

Rather, he massaged her thighs as he gaped, inching them further apart as he considered.

 

Suddenly, she felt the pad of his thumb pressing itself into her lips just below her clitoris. Lyanna yelped, her body already jerking. He felt around for a moment, studying her reactions until he found a familiar spot, and began wiggling his thumb, playing with different pressures as she struggled under his touch.

 

"Rhae, _please_ ," she begged.

 

"Just wanted to make sure I hadn't lost it."

 

"Lost it? What?" she panted.

 

"Your sweet spot," he grinned up at her, adjusting onto his knees.

 

After smoothing his palms over his mess of silver hair, he dove between her legs, pushing her thighs even further apart to accommodate the width of his shoulders. He laved her skin with the flat of his tongue, indiscriminate in his aim as she felt the wetness spread—the air between them humid with his every exhale.

 

It didn't take long before he abandoned licking in favor of sucking, his tongue going stiff as he found her sweet spot again. The near instant he focused his attentions she began to shake, biting her arm to keep from crying out. In the midst of her climax, they locked eyes—the rise of her chest with every labored breath momentarily breaking their gaze. Rhaegar closed his eyes, committing himself to her complete undoing until she had to push him away and clasp her legs shut.

 

Lyanna clamped a hand over her mound, hoping to dull the throb as she writhed around the bed, feeling overwhelmed and unsure what to do with herself. She could hear Rhae laughing as he threw himself onto the bed beside her. And after a brief recovery period, she rolled to face him. He had his hands clasped behind his neck, looking a little too satisfied with himself.

 

Despite her senses having been tapped to exhaustion, Lyanna pulled her tired body on top of his. She couldn't have him looking so smug at her expense. By now, his intimidation factor had dulled enough—particularly with her wetness still clinging to the scruff around his lips.

 

_His lips..._

 

Emboldened, she brought a hand up to run her fingers over that pout of his she loved so much. A smile bloomed against her thumb—a little less rare now, but every bit as radiant. Everything inside of her switched back on.

 

Mindlessly, she grinded against him as they kissed, the slow movements soothing for her but maddening for him. Lyanna let him whimper a moment or two longer before taking pity on him and slipping her hand between their bodies to invite him inside.

 

It was a task easier said than done—the intrusion quite foreign to her after going so long without. Clamping him between her thighs she began to slowly roll her hips, adjusting first to his width, and then his length. Rhaegar threw his head back, his hands clawing through his hair as she fell into a rhythm—his helpless reactions the perfect distraction from whatever discomfort she felt.

 

Suddenly Rhae lifted his head, claiming her mouth in a desperate kiss as his hands wrapped possessively around her back. She relinquished partial control as he met each of her thrusts with his own. The sensations of his lips against hers, his hands gliding over her skin, his cock sliding in and out of her—all of it blending into a seamless euphoria. Their bodies fell into a harmony together, the slow crescendo resonating throughout every muscle, tendon, bone.

 

Just as quickly as it culminated, Rhaegar pushed her off of him so as not to make the same mistake twice—the small flood spilling into the concave of his stomach instead of her womb.

 

After a moment, he lifted himself up on his elbows as she settled beside him, offering another quick kiss before brushing the sweaty strands from her forehead.

 

" _Lyanna_ ," he sang her name before collapsing again.

 

She wondered how all of this would feel once the afterglow dimmed—for her, for him. Already, she couldn't imagine returning to her life without him being a part of it—but she lived half a world away. Lyanna couldn't envision herself anywhere in his lavish life, likewise, he'd be bored to tears with her basic, small-town life.

 

"What's wrong?" he asked, snapping her out of her daze.

 

Rhae examined her face a moment before assuring her, "I'm not going to make the same mistake twice."

 

" _What?_ "

 

"Letting you go a second time."

 

"Oh," she croaked. "I thought you meant... when you pushed me off of you... that you didn't want-"

 

His laughter cut her off, "A child? That's a discussion for another night."

 

Lyanna fought the urge to argue, the urge to bring logistics into this otherwise perfect encapsulated moment she'd spent so many nights fantasizing about. For now, she tried to silence the questions that rang in the back of her mind—about how any of this might work, about where they'd go from here.

 

"Another night," she hummed in agreement, leaning forward and pressing her ear to his chest.

 

Rhaegar lazily stroked her hair, occasionally humming in quiet satisfaction. She fought to stay awake, but somewhere between the lull of his heartbeat and the soft breeze rustling the curtains, she began to drift off, succumbing to dreams of her family. Her brothers, Howland, and their wives and children. Her son, in whose arms was a familiar girl with hair the color of moonlight. And in hers, the man she should've never let go of, and didn't plan to again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stoppin' by! ♥


End file.
